Lovers' Cry Lost
by Adromache
Summary: Through deceit and passion, a perfect love was broken and another was made whole. Distrust is a knife that kills love. What would it take to heal a fatal wound of the heart? AH BA
1. Prologue

**Lovers' Cry Lost**

This story is co-written, by me and Amura Natia. It briefly (six chapters or so) summarizes key points in Troy and then what happens afterwards. Please keep reading, I promise you'll like it! There are two parts to the Prologue, one by Adromache, one by Briseis. 

"In the year 1193 B.C., Paris, a prince of Troy, stole Helen, Queen of Sparta, away from her husband, Menelaus, setting the kingdoms of Mycenaean Greece at war with Troy. The Greeks began a bloody siege at Troy that lasted over ten years. Achilles was the greatest hero among the Greeks, while Hector, the eldest son of Priam, King of Troy, embodied the hopes of the people of his city."

War.

What does that word mean to you? Blood and Gore? Glory? Duty? Honor? Death? I know what it means to me, the loss of the most precious thing in my life.

War.

How I despise Ares. His creation took from me the most precious part of all that I am. He took the other half of me, the other half of my soul, he halved my heart. War is naught but loss. A deep wound, one that will not heal, despite the calming balms that soothe it; it flames as an infected limb, spreading disease and death. 

Love.

What does that word mean to you? A flitting passion? One night of joy? Lust? Envy? War? A family? Sweet, soft kisses? Warm embraces? I know what it means to me, my husband, my heart, my child.

Love.

Ah, the blessing; Oh, the curse. Love; it is a pain that pierces me. A scar that will not heal. My husband, my only love. Hector. 

Oh, how I long for him. How I miss him. How I breathe his name everynight as I turn to the empty half of the bed beside me, feeling fresh tears spring to my eyes as I realize he is gone. I feel him, feel his heartbeat, hear his breathing, and watch his face as I did for hours, lying in his arms, content. Watch the rising and falling of his chest. Stroke the soft curls of his dark hair. Whisper to him as he sleeps. But he is gone. I know he is there, but I will never again touch him. He is gone, a ghost of my other half. My grief consumes me. The most tragic of all feelings is when the thing you want most is there, but you know you can never have it.

I will never love another. Never. No man could ever take his place. My heart is torn and bloodied beyond repair. It died as Achilles' sword pierced Hector's armor.

My son, my dear child, reminds me more and more of his father everyday, he is the anchor that keeps me in this world, my stronghold. I cling to him as a drowning man grasps a straw in the heaving waves of loss and chaos. He alone is the reason that I am brought from the suicidal brink of my insanity and loss.

He is only an infant; yet the burning present in his eyes is that of his father as he beholds a weapon. A careful and knowing glance. One of a hunter.

Hector once told me a sword will save or take lives as easily as we breathe. May the gods grant a sword will never take my son's life. As it did his father's.

Troy. There was never a more mournful story. 

My home. Or, at least it was my home. It is gone, now. Burned to the ground, razed and plundered. But a part of my heart still lives where the ashes and crumbling ruins now stand. A part of me, a ghost of my mind, walks the halls as I used to as a young woman, meeting Hector, and falling in love.

Troy is nothing more than a story now, a myth. But it was a true story. Not the version told by a poet, one who was gifted with words, but the version told by one such as me, a brutal realist.

I am Andromache, Princess of Troy, wife of Hector, eldest Prince of Troy. This is my story, the story I will tell with my dear cousin. 

Troy.

It is our story, for it was our hearts that broke, our tears that were shed, our blood that was spilt, our children that cried, and our loves that fell and bled.

Troy. There was never a sadder tale, never a darker grief.

I do not understand myself, for in my darkest hour, my grief is hopeful. I may see Hector again. If not in this world, in the next. 

But I now weep dry tears onto a pillow that has felt countless nights of sobbing; as I look beside me, knowing Hector is there, yet unable to touch him. 

* * *

Achilles… His name makes my body shiver. I can still feel the powerful way his body rode against mine. I can picture the way he moves his hand hungrily down my back, pinning his body to mine. Passion consumes us every time we are together. The blood rushes through my body so fast that I might pass out. When He kisses me, I begin to drown in erotic sensations. I love him.

My mother died of a broken heart. I was always terrified to fall in love. I did not want to end up like my mother. Every night I would listen to her weep for my father. Scared, and alone, I prayed I would never fall in love. I have spent my whole life running from love.

But there was one person who always had faith in me. Her name is Andromache. She is the wife of my dear cousin Hector. Andromache would hold me at times and say that there will be someone. She said that I can not run from love my whole life for it is a wonderful thing. She was not only a cousin, but a sister and a best friend.

Now….......Hector is gone. I am the one who holds Andromache at nights when there is no hope. I am the one who wipes away all the tears and sorrow. Sometimes we cry together, both with nothing left…......no strength….........no joy…........no love.

This war has torn us all apart. I have not slept in days because of my nightmares. All I do is pray….........Pray for peace, a peace that will never come.

But that's what life it, isn't it? It is an eternal war within out souls….....Every day we battle with ourselves and it is the driving will within us to fight. But not all of us….....Once in a while, when I weep for no reason, I hold Andromache's child. So innocent….............so pure. He sooths my soul and gives me hope.

I look to the sky and I see the moon. It gives off glorious light. I close my eyes and picture a world of peace….....A world where I can live with Achilles…........A world of love.


	2. Home

A/N: Scamandrius is the son of Hector and Andromache. He was named Scamandrius by his father, but the people called him Astyanax ("king of the city"). I got this from the Iliad, so I'm sure about the spelling this time. I'm not sure what Andromache would call him, but I think it would be Scamandrius because that's the name his father gave him. She would probably only call him Astyanax when she teases or honors him.

  All parts focused on Andromache/Hector are written by Adromache. All parts Achilles/Briseis are by Amura Natia.

  Anything we may have changed we changed for a reason. It will become clear in later chapters.

Chapter 1

Andromache brushed her thick curls idly as she stared dreamily into a mirror, looking beyond the fragile piece of glass before her. The brush's movements were almost hypnotizing. The flames that heated her chambers gave off a pale glow. With a loud snap that woke her baby son, a log in the fire broke in two.

   Scamandrius woke with a grumpy cry, loudly voicing his opinion over being so rudely awakened. Andromache smiled as she set down her brush and glided to her son's crib, cradling him gently in her arms. She laughed to herself as she hugged him, thinking of how much he was like his father.

  "You don't like being woken, do you, Scamandrius?" She cooed, tickling her son's nose gently.

The baby tilted his head as he studied her with his bright blue eyes. His eyes were intense and watchful, burning with intelligence. Just like his father's.

  Thinking of Hector brought back the pang of loneliness Andromache had been suppressing for the past few weeks. Hector never could seem to get away from duty. Not for the first time she wished they could live simple lives, without duty, without politics or war.

A timid knock at the door sounded. Andromache set her son back in his cradle and pulled a robe on swiftly. "Come in, it's open." She called, putting another log on the fireplace.

The door creaked open, and a young woman dressed in a white virgin's robe slipped inside. Her long black hair tumbled in soft curls down her back, just past her elbows. Dark, careful eyes regarded Adromache with a pleasant expression.

"Cousin," She greeted with an inclination of her head. "I have good news."

Adromache smiled and stepped forward to embrace her. "Your visit is pleasing enough," she said, gently kissing her cousin's cheeks, "even without any news. Come, sit. Would you like anything to drink?"

The other woman shook her head as she sat down on the edge of the bed next to Adromache. She bit her lip to suppress a wide smile. Priestesses were not supposed to show emotion publicly.

Andromache chuckled and hugged her again. "It's just me, Briseis. You have such a lovely smile. Share it." She waited until her cousin beamed, then continued. "Now, what's the news?"

Briseis laughed, hugging her cousin back warmly. "We have just received word. Peace has been made with Sparta. Hector is still alive, and is coming home soon. He would have been here today, but there were too many formalities."

  Andromache sighed with relief. "I was worried. Too many soldiers leave and never return."

"I know, cousin. I do not understand war."

  The two lapsed into silence, watching the fire.

  Finally, Briseis spoke. "Andromache?"

"Mmmm?"

"What's love like?"

Andromache sighed longingly. "Ahhhh, love. Which kind do you mean, cousin?"

"What love is there?"

"There are many kinds. There is family, spouse, and a mother's, for start. But perhaps you mean sex?"

Shocked by the forward question, Briseis could only stare, a dark flush creeping up into her cheeks.

Andromache chuckled. "Which?"

Briseis shrugged, embarrassed. "All of them?"

Andromache sighed happily again, her expression turning serious. "Love for a family member you know well. Love for your spouse...........it is indescribable. You have this other half to you, another part of your heart. You are complete." She paused and smiled dreamily. "A mother's love, I again cannot describe it." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You bled every month and went through excruciating pain to bring this child into the world, and by Hades, you are going to see it grow up and live a happy life!"

  Briseis laughed.

"And the last, dear cousin, you will have to find out for yourself."

  Briseis straitened defensively, her laughter cutting off abruptly. "I am a virgin priestess of Apollo! It is forbidden by the rules!"

  Andromache looked at her sideways, a knowing smile appearing on her lips. "If you find a good enough man, even the gods themselves will sometimes cheat a little, as you will eventually find out, my dear cousin."

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   Andromache awoke early, the sun shining through the open balcony. She yawned, stretching her long arms. Hopping out of bed and pulling a small rope to summon a maid, she walked out onto her balcony to overlook the city, dawn's first light kissing the rooftops and houses. The wall was idly patrolled by sleeping soldiers, who would soon be replaced so they could go home. She remembered Hector telling her how watches were organized in Troy, and it was a very effective system, with overlapping shifts so the wall was never left unguarded.

   "My lady?" The timid voice of Sheidei as she peeked around the door brought Andromache out of her memories. "You called me?"

"Yes, I did. Could you please get my blue robe for me, and my gold earrings? I have a feeling there will be a ceremony today."

  The maid curtsied. "Right away, ma'am."

  Andromache turned to her table, pulling out her brush and combing her hair gently. Today, Hector would be home, and she wanted to look her best. He was coming. She just knew it.

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Briseis ran down the hallway as fast as her legs could carry her. Her heart pounded like a drum. "They're coming home!" she panted, "They're coming back at last!"

The white robes twisted and turned in the wind when she reached the steps to the palace. A smile snuck out from behind her lush lips.

"Briseis!" Paris greeted her with open arms.

"Cousin!" She leaped towards Paris and embraced him with her whole heat and soul.

Holding her at arm's length, Paris smiled. "Your beauty grows with each new moon! I missed you!"

"And I missed you too, dear cousin!"

 Still smiling, Paris held her at arm's length. "What's this? A priestess of Apollo?"

Priam interrupted, a smile appearing on his thin mouth. "A _virgin _priestess of Apollo! All the young men of Troy were devastated when Briseis chose the virgin's robe!"

   Paris leaned in for another fond hug. Briseis returned it warmly. "It is wonderful to see you all grown up!"

"Don't I get to see my favorite cousin?"

"Hector!" Briseis shouted. She tackled him with a playful hug. "I am so happy you are safe!"

Hectors lips brushed against her cheeks in the greeting. He smiled gently. "It is good to see you." he turned to his father with a nod. "Father."

   Priam looked at his son coldly, pointedly turning his back on Andromache and welcoming Helen pleasantly. Hector rolled his eyes.

  Paris eagerly budded in, pulling his cousin away from his brother. "Briseis, there is someone I want you to meet."

Briseis slowly broke away from Hector, who moved to greet Andromache with a warm smile and a whispered exchange of words. Priam watched them darkly, making his strong dislike of his son's wife obvious.

  Briseis looked over her shoulder to see a young woman standing silently.

She looked alone and out of place. "Who is that?" Briseis asked bluntly.

"This is Helen." Paris grabbed her arm and pulled her to his side.

"Helen of Sparta?"

"No....Helen of Troy." He looked into Helen's eyes. Briseis saw something she saw in few others. Genuine love. They were in love.

"Oh...Well, I must return to my chambers now." She laughed. "It was so wonderful to see you all!"

She smiled at Hector. Then at Paris and Priam. This was her home. This was her family. She loved them and hoped that nothing would ever change.

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  Andromache watched the royal procession approach the throne with a spreading smile on her face. Hector glanced her way and smiled tiredly, dropping a wink. She winked back, ignoring the tightness in her throat and the tears threatening to fill her eyes. 

   Zeus, she had missed him. He looked tired, and although he was smiling, a dark worry lurked in the line of his mouth and the dark bags under his eyes. His step had a tired tread to it, and his shoulders missed some of their usual bearing. There was something wrong. Something serious. A cold fear seized her heart, and Adromache desperately tried to push it away. Perhaps he was merely ill. Hector did hate boats and ships. Something told her that wasn't it. Call it woman's intuition. She focused her mind on other things, knowing she would learn nothing until they were alone.

  Paris looked happier than Andromache had ever remembered seeing him; the woman by his side and he shared small, special glances. She was lovely, with long blonde hair than tumbled past her shoulders and bright blue eyes. Andromache smiled at her cousin's happiness. It seemed he had finally found a woman. _'It's about time he picked just one'_, she thought wryly.

  She watched as Hector greeted Briseis and Priam. The old king pointedly ignored his son's welcome and turned his back on her. Andromache shook her head at the insult. It was bad enough that Priam hated her, but did he have to make it public? She couldn't understand the old king's animosity. She knew he had hated her father, and when she and Hector were married, Priam had to be forced to attend their wedding.

  As soon as he had greeted his father and Briseis, Hector came to her. Andromache embraced him warmly, hugging him and kissing him deeply.  Tears filled her eyes as she placed her head on his chest and took a deep breath.

  He tilted her head back gently with his hand, looking into her eyes. "Do I look that bad?" He asked softly, his hand stroking her hair gently.

  Andromache leaned up to his ear to murmur her reply. "Of course not. You need a bath, though."

  Hector chuckled. "Maybe you could give me one?"

  Andromache raised an eyebrow in mock horror. "Such talk! You will make your father faint, husband!" Taking his hand, she drew him over to the side and took Scamandrius from her maid.

  A joyful smile lit Hector's tired face. "He's grown, if that's possible." He muttered, accepting his son from his wife's arms.

  Andromache watched her husband's face as the smile slowly disappeared. He looked almost sad. The same fear as before clutched at her heart, and this time, she did not combat it. There was something wrong. Something very wrong.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

  "Helen of Sparta?" Andromache struggled with her words. "Surely you jest, Hector." Hector's face remained impassive. Fear seized Andromache's soul. "Please tell me you jest."

  Hector's dark eyes regarded his wife quietly. "I wish I did." He said softly. "Helen came with us without anyone but Paris and herself knowing. By now, Menelaus will have gone to Agamemnon. He has been looking for an excuse to destroy us for years. There will be war, Andromache. A terrible war. One that will be remembered for years."

   Andromache sat rigid on the edge of their bed, her mind racing furiously. "Can we win?"

  Hector's face grew sad. He stood, taking Andromache's hand and leading her onto their balcony, overlooking the city and the walls. Overlooking Troy. "You see this city, Andromache? You see the fires of the people, the sleeping figures in the streets; you hear the last of the celebrations dying out? You see life? You see these walls, mighty and proud? Strong and indomitable?"

  Andromache nodded, her throat painfully tight.

  "In a few years, these walls will be nothing more than rubble. All these people will be dead, captive, dying, or fleeing through the wilderness with the hounds of Greece hot on their trail. We cannot win this war." Andromache tried to speak, but Hector placed a finger on her lips. "I saw the way the Greeks fought, my love. They have a warrior who is Death himself. Some say he is a god. He fights; I have never seen anything like it. He is like liquid sun fire. He took down a giant of a man, seven feet tall, with a single blow."

  Andromache pushed away her husband's finger. "We have you, Hector, Prince of Troy, and you are enough. If this man is as a god, you will be as two. We may not be able to win, but we will fight."

  Hector looked at his wife admiringly, watching the fire that flashed in her dark eyes. "I am reminded yet again of why I love you," he told her.

  Andromache stroked his face, pulling him back into their rooms. "I will give you another reason, my heart. You still need your bath."

  Hector raised an eyebrow.

 Andromache smiled at him sweetly. "And Priam is not here to faint of shock."

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End file.
